


Expert System

by Slybrarian



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:25:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slybrarian/pseuds/Slybrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has always regretted that he has but one life to give for his country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expert System

**Author's Note:**

> This fic dedicated to the Linebarger Cats.

"Are you sure this thing isn't going to eat my brain?" John asked, sceptically looking over the chair-like machine.

"It is perfectly safe, Colonel, and if I'm right this could prove incredibly useful." Rodney said. "Now sit down and think 'on'."

With a sigh, John sat and closed his eyes. There was a buzzing, not unlike what he'd felt before with the control chair, and then something clicked.

**upload complete / system start**

When John opened his eyes again, he found himself in space, which was certainly different.

Oh, right. That was pretty much the point, wasn't it? John did a few experimental rolls and loops, getting a feel for flying, before getting back into what passed for an unruly formation among the swarm of interceptors streaming out from the carrier behind him. The ship handled pretty well, but it was ugly as hell - just a cylinder with a pair of stubby winglets. Maybe he could get it spruced up with some nose art or something, once he blew up all those darts heading straight for him and the planet below.

_"I'm relaying the sensor data now,"_ the scout floating far out where it could see the entire area squawked. Information flooded into John's mind, even as Rodney went on, _"Wow. That's a lot of ships. Damn it, why do I only have a popgun?"_

As John studied what the scans were showing (three hives, five cruisers, about seven hundred darts), he heard another him said, _"Well, this should be interesting."_

_"Fun times."_ the John on the carrier told them. _"All interceptor groups, engage the darts. I'll take that hive and cruisers to port. Stay clear of my fire pattern."_

The cloud of strikecraft met the incoming darts and all semblance of order was lost as the battle turned into a furball of dogfighting ships. John danced his way through the mess, letting his superior speed and reflexes protect his fragile body from fire as he tore dart after dart apart. He was vaguely aware of the capital ships trading shots in the background, and when first one and then another hiveship vapourized, the darts finally started to pull back. John let them go, taking a few seconds to regroup and assess damage.

_"We kicked their asses,"_ he said to the rest. They'd lost two hundred and eighty fighters, almost half their number, but had taken down twice that many darts. It was even more in their favor proportionately, and not bad at all for their first time.

_"Blue and Gold squadrons, engage flanking cruisers,"_ ordered the carrier-John, _"Red squadron, escort outbound bomber wing on their attack."_

John peeled off to the side and met up with the quintet of Lornes making a torpedo run on the remaining hiveship, which had managed to put the planet's horizon between it and the carrier's guns. He snickered at the thought of how confused the bastards had to be at finding their meal had some unexpected friends.

_"Afternoon, boss,"_ one Lorne said, sounding amused. _"Enjoying yourself?"_

_"Always,"_ John replied as they blew through the remaining darts between them and the target, losing a few dozen interceptors and two bombers. The survivors let fly with their torpedoes, and moments later the naquadah-enhanced antimatter warheads shattered the hive into a million pieces.

_"Scratch one flattop,"_ Lorne whooped. John had already flipped end for end and was barreling back toward remaining Wraith ships, not about miss out on the remaining action. He was just entering range when a stray shot grazed him, slashing a gouge along his whole length.

Ow. Okay, getting shot still hurt like a bitch. As he fought to regain control of himself, John sent off an indignant message to the Rodney still hovering above the combat zone, asking exactly who's bright idea that was. He supposed it was a little late to worry about it, though, and fuck, he was still spiraling out of control, and the cruiser in front of him was getting larger and larger. As he tried to aim himself for the ship's main cannon, John wondered if perhaps he should have given a little more thought to the philosophical implications of mass-uploading yourself and -


End file.
